


A Button to Lurk

by Reidluver



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: F/M, Gen, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Michael appreciates it against her better judgement, Michael what is wrong with you, Multi, Pre-Relationship, an unlikely angel and demon deal with loss, and Hastur decided to try and be Nice, and then Michael started having Feelings, at least as well as he could, it's the effort that counts, random flashbacks to Before, this was only meant to be a drabble
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-12
Updated: 2019-07-12
Packaged: 2020-06-26 22:19:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19777594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reidluver/pseuds/Reidluver
Summary: Michael wasn't upset to learn about Ligur's death.Shewasn't.





	A Button to Lurk

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by this [tumblr post](https://aziraphalesbian.tumblr.com/post/186003217988/michael-i-went-through-the-earth-observation)

Michael didn't know why she volunteered to bring the Holy Water to Hell.

While it was true Crowley played a part in halting Armageddon and needed to suffer the consequences, for some reason that didn't seem important anymore. At least, not as much as it should.

If she'd been told a week ago that Armageddon would be stopped, she'd be rightfully furious. The culmination of six thousand years worth of planning and waiting, all for naught? All because of some upstart half-mortal and a rebellious angel and demon? It was enough to make anyone (angel or not) rip their hair out. It should have been all she cared about.

Except . . . Crowley killed Ligur. Actually properly _destroyed_ him. Ligur hadn't discorporated.

He was gone.

Michael should be happy about that. One less demon to worry about. One less opponent on the battlefield. Sure, she and Ligur kept in contact for the past two millennia, but it was strictly professional. Neither one divulged a single secret. The back channels were only meant to maintain the status quo. If Heaven was sending ten angels to oversee some Major Event, Hell should know to send ten demons. A Balance had to be maintained, at least until Armageddon. They would ensure the Great Plan happened right on schedule.

The invention of the telephone made communication easier, but both preferred to meet in person. Less chance to be overheard mind you. Other angels or demons, they might get the wrong idea.

As an extra measure of caution, Michael and Ligur exchanged human small talk and pleasantries—all to avoid arousing suspicion. Just to see if any beings were listening in. Michael would complain about Gabriel's overexcited personality or her growing disdain for The Sound of Music. Ligur would complain about the lighting and dampness in Hell or any difficulties he had in tempting humans. Sometimes Michael would talk about more inane things, like her confusion with hoverboards. Ligur's stories mainly involved Hastur, be it how he embarrassed himself during a temptation or how ridiculous he looked when Crowley pranked him. If Michael didn't know better, she'd say Ligur was fond of Hastur, but demons were incapable of such feelings. It was more likely Ligur viewed Hastur as a source of entertainment.

When they blended in with the humans, Ligur's lizard would move down to his shoulder. Michael always felt this . . . curiosity to pet it. How would it feel? Were they covered in scales or leathery skin? The fact that it changed color was fascinating and it was more entrancing how Ligur's eyes would match. An angel shouldn't be interested, but Michael came to realize the colors changed according to Ligur's moods. It was an observation that lent insight to her enemy, that's all. The desire to touch and pet the creature was necessary to divert suspicion. Michael had been mulling over a way to casually ask permission to pet it.

Not anymore though. She'd never get the chance again.

Ligur was _gone._

* * *

When Gabriel told them of the punishment he and Beelzebub came up with, Michael volunteered without a second thought. She was eager to punish Crowley, to make him suffer the way he made Li-for stopping Armageddon. He and Aziraphale couldn't be allowed to interfere any further. It was only right.

She couldn't be there for Aziraphale's death though. It wouldn't feel . . no, she had be in Hell. None of the other Archangels would be able to stomach it. Michael could. She'd been in seedy places before.

Ligur taught her how to lurk.

* * *

Michael poured the Holy Water into the tub, arms outstretched in lieu of wings, her eyes trained on Crowley.

How would it look? she wondered. Did demons evaporate all at once? Would he scream like Ligur?

Did it make a difference if they knew what was coming? Ligur had to have been taken by surprise. No one, not even an angel, would believe a demon capable of such an act.

Crowley wouldn't be taken by surprise, and Michael decided that must be crueler. Humans had a saying that the _anticipation_ was the worse part. She hoped it was true. (If the Holy Water poured a little slower, who would know?)

She was going to watch. To listen. To lurk in the shadows and watch Crowley suffer and die for his murder— _crime_ against Heaven and Hell.

Justice would put a smile on her face.

* * *

She couldn't do it.

Crowley had asked to remove his jacket, flippant even in the face of death.

An age-old image came to Michael of another ( _but-the-same_ ) _—_ nebulae reflected in his eyes with a smile that radiated such Joy. The purest form of which was rare even among angels.

She couldn't.

Michael couldn't watch, even for ~~Ligur~~ The Great Plan. (It was . . . eons ago they'd all been— _this should never have—_ ) Michael grasped the elevator handrail and twisted. The metal groaned and shrieked, which was oddly pleasant. It seemed there was something to be gained from archaic human methods of coping. Kicking the wall was too ridiculous, so breaking something would have to do.

She rode the elevator all the way to the top then rode it back down. Crowley would be gone by now, she was sure. The doors dinged. Somehow, the sound made Michael realize Aziraphale should also be dead, burned by Hellfire. One of their youngest angels _—_ his eyes filled with such Wonder that complimented the other's Joy _—_ entrusted with too much too soon.

In a moment so brief no human device could measure it, Michael leaned against the elevator wall, overcome with a weariness only the oldest creations could carry.

_( ~~Family~~ —three in two days!—theyweresupposedtobe ~~family~~ )_

Michael righted herself and walked down the hall. There was no turning back. Not now.

* * *

Crowley bathed in Holy Water and Aziraphale in Hellfire. They should have burned.

They were still _alive_.

Michael was angry—relieved— _ ~~hurt~~ -confused?_

Armageddon was supposed to be a straightforward affair. The Antichrist destroys the Earth and the humans, Heaven and Hell resume the battle started millennia ago, and Heaven wins. Easy. Expected.

What happened?

Crowley was drying off and Aziraphale was smiling at (terrorizing) the angels in reception.

Michael unfurled her wings and willed herself to Mayfair. She didn't have much time.

* * *

The alley was dark, especially so in the dead of night. The nearest light thrummed with energy and flickered. Sirens echoed in the distance and a filthy puddle rippled from the scurrying of rats.

It was so cliche it threatened to disrupt Michael's concentration at lurking. She supposed it was fitting though, that Hastur choose a place like this to sulk. Hastur scowled at his cigarette in the dark alley, his body twitching all the while. She waited for a moment then appeared at his side in an instant. The satisfaction at his (rather impressive) shriek was simply payback for the insult he gave her earlier.

"The heaven you want, wank-wings?" He snarled but the effect was lost in the way he scrambled against the wall. Michael would have laughed but— _the lanky angel flinched and shrieked at so many of God's creations, why had the Almighty created one so scared and strange—_

She cleared her throat and took a small step back. No need to crowd Hastur after all. "I uh—" (why couldn't she speak properly?) "—I know you and Ligur . . . worked together—" To hell with this. Michael miracled the coat into her arms and held it out.

Hastur blinked his fully black eyes at her, his face contorted in well . . . she wasn't sure what, but it didn't belong on a demon. The moment passed and his eyes flashed with fury, which put Michael at ease. This was familiar territory.

"I don't care what the others say," Hastur said. "I'm not an idiot." He sneered and pointed at the coat. "It's still got Holy Water. You're trying to kill me."

For the love of all that is Holy!

Michael moved closer and shook the coat. "I miracled away any trace of Holy Water."

"How do I know you're not lying?" Hastur said. "Demons can't trust other demons, why should I trust an angel?"

Michael glared. Her thin control, the tether holding back the flash of pure Light she wanted to unleash stretched like twine about to snap. She shoved the coat at Hastur with such force it knocked him back.

"Because I could have killed you back in Hell, but it's _Ligur who's dead_ and he never shut up about **_YOU!_** "

. . .

Silence.

Her chest heaved like a human out of breath. The inside of her throat felt raw and damaged. Hastur's eyes were impossibly wide, shimmering like black ink.

Another moment of silence passed. Michael wanted to fly back to Heaven but Hastur stumbled forward. He peeled the coat off the ground with such a calculated tenderness Michael's feet were rooted to the spot. Hastur cradled the bundle and stared at it as if he'd never seen clothing before. Some strangled croak pierced the silence and that was Michael's cue to leave.

"Wait!"

Michael snapped back around, her arms raised to fend off any attack.

"As far as angels go," Hastur mumbled, staring at Ligur's coat and picking at the fabric, "Ligur . . ." Hastur's voice broke at the end. The sound twisted something in Michael's chest. "Ligur said you were the least irritating." He then ripped something off the coat with an audible _snap_ , flung it at her, and disappeared into the ground.

Against her better judgement, Michael scrambled to catch the tiny object. (If she used a minor miracle to avoid dropping it no one had to know)

It fit in the palm of her hand, round with four holes in the center . . . a button?

Michael snuck into a demon's living quarters to gift Hastur with the remains of his acquaintance (friend?) and received a button in return. She didn't need—it was Hastur who knew him best. She and Ligur hardly knew each other. Were on opposite sides.

Still . . .

It was just a button. A mundane object that belonged to an evil, fallen angel. It meant nothing. And yet . . .

Michael miracled a thin, silver chain and threaded it through the buttonholes. She clasped it around her neck and inspected the button with more care than was needed. The edges on one side were scuffed and chipped, like it'd been scraped across brick. Michael brushed her thumb over it, admiring the contrasting textures. Nothing was banged up or scratched in Heaven. The only thing wrong with it was the color though. The black was faded, worn out.

Michael cupped the button in her hand, closed her eyes, and blew a Miracle on it. The button flared hot against her skin. When she opened her eyes the faded black was now sage green. A warmth settled in Michael's chest, the likes of which she hadn't felt for millennia.

Michael watched, transfixed as the button's color changed from sage green to tangerine. She smiled and blinked away a single tear.


End file.
